


Honor, Friendship & Love

by BelfastDocks



Category: Chronicles of Prydain - Lloyd Alexander
Genre: Conversations, Friendship, Gen, Male Friendship, Post Series, Post-High King
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:20:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23901469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelfastDocks/pseuds/BelfastDocks
Summary: A conversation among friends, approximately eight years post-High King.
Relationships: Eilonwy/Taran of Caer Dallben, Llassar/Gwenlliant
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	Honor, Friendship & Love

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** A result of re-reading the series. Spoilers for the entire series. Particularly _Taran Wanderer_ and _The High King_.

## 

Honor, Friendship & Love

"Do you ever wish to be just a shepherd?"

The young man turned to look at his king, his normally bright eyes suddenly clouded with worry. "Have... I done something wrong?" he asked anxiously.

"No!" The king looked startled at the question. "Of course not! You're one of my best warriors! I just meant, you were born to the life of a shepherd. And I have often asked more of you than I should, I think."

The clouded face cleared; the response was cheerful. "You have asked nothing of me that I have not been honored to do. It is an honor to serve a friend."

The king's expression turned sad and his eyes lingered momentarily on a scar across the young man's bicep that stood out against his pale skin. There were more, he knew, beneath the younger's clothing - a particularly bad one against his ribs from a sword during the battle against Pryderi almost nine years prior.

The younger looked at him curiously and added, "Herding sheep is no less dangerous than this, Wanderer. And in this, there are no foxes and wolves to contend with." He put the sword he had been using back with the other practice weapons, and began stripping the leather guards from his sweaty forearms.

"Men are more dangerous than foxes and wolves, as you and I both know well. And I am more aware of the dangers of sheep herding than even you could guess."

"Are you? I've known you for several years now, and never once have I seen you tend to sheep!" He laughed at the very idea of the High King, tending sheep!

The king did not laugh. Instead, his eyes became dark and his face more lined than it should have been for one as young as he. His answer was measured. "It is a long story, and one I have only ever told Eilonwy in full." There was a pause. "A man tricked me once, into believing I was his son. He was a shepherd. And, believing him, I tended sheep for a season. It was several months before you and I met, actually."

The younger man leaned against one of the racks, his head tilted in interest. "How did you discover the lie?"

"The day he died, he confessed the truth: that I was not his son. I nearly died with him, that day. A gift from Eilonwy was all that saved me."

Sympathetically, the younger replied, "I can understand why you would be angry at him."

"No. Not at him." The king turned to a stack of weapons, running his fingers across the handles of the spears lining the wall before he gripped one momentarily, his knuckles turning white. "At myself." His voice was cold, hard, weary.

"I don't understand. You are a mystery, Wanderer. Were you angry that you didn't see the trick sooner?"

The king shook his head. "I was angry at myself for how I acted. I was ashamed to be the son of a shepherd, when I wanted to be the son of a noble, so I could marry Eilonwy. My very heart was bitter towards him, for I believed he had ruined my dreams. The reality was, I put too much hope in the dream of being nobly born. Do you see now why I never told you?" He smiled bitterly. "I feared that you would think ill of me."

"I could never think ill of you. I know that sheep-herding is not for everyone. Besides, you are now the High King of Prydain." The younger laughed. "So it worked out in the end."

"Many is the day I wish I weren't," was the grim reply. "But I have no choice, I'm afraid."

"Then let me ask you this. If you could do anything, without worry... without responsibility... what would you -?"

The king cut him off, as though the answer were too easy. As though he had thought of the answer many times, ready to give it should someone but ask. "I would be a potter." He put his hand within his jerkin and drew out a shard of pottery from a hidden pocket. He ran his thumb over the worn, smooth edge; he had clearly done so countless times. "Though I'm afraid I have no talent for such, as I learned to my dismay. But I would rather create than fight. My heart yearns for peace." His gaze became distant. "When I was a child, I would have said differently. I had such different ideas, then."

After a long moment of silence between them, the king roused himself, tucked the shard away again, and met his friend's eyes. "And you, Llassar? If you could do anything, what would you choose?"

Sincerely, Llassar answered, "I would continue serving you. Perhaps I was born a shepherd, but I gave that life up when the Sons of Don marched against Arawn Death-Lord. Now, I am a warrior for the bravest man in the land, and I am proud and humbled to call him friend. I know what you will say; that you aren't brave. But it isn't true. I've seen you ride into more than one battle, and I've seen you face men around a table who would kill you, talking them down with words instead of a sword. Bravery is being terrified and swinging into the saddle anyways, or facing your opponents regardless of the outcome."

"I'll agree with the last bit only. Yet, I am not the bravest man in the land. Prince Gwydion will always hold that title, and he would probably disagree with me, just as I am disagreeing with you." He smiled sadly at the thought of a friend long gone, and stepped back. "As long as you are happy, that is what matters. I only feared that perhaps you would rather be in Commot Isav watching gentle creatures instead of fighting endless, draining skirmishes. And I would not want to keep you from such, if you wished to return."

"I know you would not. Many is the man you have graciously allowed to return to their commot, these eight years past. But I confess, I do not miss Commot Isav much. The Eagle Mountains are my home, now."

A new voice joined the conversation, burly and brusque and twitching with amusement. "That's because he's in love with Gwenlliant and it's _her_ home now! What say you, Wanderer?"

Llassar turned bright pink as he turned to face a giant of a man who's bristly black, short beard was now streaked with gray.

The large man grinned, and went on, "Deny it if you will, but the whole court has guessed, during these past few months. The way you look at her -"

"You still needn't go around shouting it for everyone to hear," Llassar cut him off, clearly embarrassed. "I haven't spoken to her, yet!"

The older man opened his mouth for another jest, but the king interrupted. "Enough, Hevydd." His lips twitched with humor. "Don't tease him. Gwenlliant is a fine choice, and she couldn't do better herself, either. We _were_ wondering when you'd get around to it. Llonio would be pleased, were he here."

"Do I have permission to speak to her, then?" Llassar asked. There was an eager hopefulness in his tone, as though he had long wished to discuss the matter but wasn't certain how to go about it.

The king rolled his eyes. "As if you need such."

"Best to ask permission from her mother instead of the Wanderer-King," Hevydd said knowledgeably.

The king's voice was sardonic. "Just as a formality. Because I would be shocked if Goewin refused the hand of one of the High King's trusted war leaders and closest friends for her daughter's betrothed." He winked at Llassar before he turned to leave the practice space. "Don't be late for dinner, Eilonwy will be annoyed. She does like to run things on a tight schedule."

"If it weren't for Her Majesty," Hevydd called out with a bark of laughter, "we wouldn't be on a schedule at all, I fear!"

"If you're complaining about my lack of enthusiasm at maintaining a detailed daily schedule, you can bring your grievances to the Court of Justice when next it convenes," was the unconcerned, deadpan response, and the king continued across the sparring yard towards the castle without even looking back.

"That won't do any good, either. Her Majesty would just agree with me and we'd only be wasting time to bring it up." Hevydd chuckled and turned back to Llassar. "You, however, should probably talk with the Queen about Gwenlliant, since the girl is her personal maid. I'm sure she'd be happy to assist you."

Llassar nodded. "I'm sure she would. I should have thought of it sooner. I'll speak with her tonight."

Hevydd nodded with satisfaction and headed back for his smithy. The former shepherd, however, turned to watch the king.

Believing that no one was watching him for the moment, that Llassar and Hevydd were still in conversation, the king's shoulders sagged slightly as though from exhaustion. He opened a heavy, studded door to the castle and it swung shut behind him with a soft thud of finality. Llassar was reminded of a conversation he'd had years earlier with Coll son of Collfrewr: that a man who leads, bears the weight of responsibility for more than just himself. Not for the first time did the warrior feel a twinge of sorrow for his friend. There was little he could do to ease the king's burdens.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Additional Note:** I did not make up Gwenlliant; in Taran Wanderer, she is the daughter who brings the egg to Llonio. I don't believe her age is stated; I always pictured her around eight years old during that novel.
> 
> I do not know if I will write more to this, although I would like to - it depends on whether my muse humors me or not. I do love TaranxEilonwy, even if it is through the eyes of others.
> 
> Thank you for reading, liking, and/or reviewing.


End file.
